Sentimential Journey
by MLaw
Summary: It's snowing in New York City, and it's having an affect on a particular Russian. Originally posted for the Mood-Y story challenge on section7mfu, live journal. The prompt was the emotion, "sentimental." pre-saga


The snow blew wildly in the air, drifting along the sidewalks and steps of the apartment buildings that stood like sentinals lining the city streets.

New York was at a virtual shut down as temperatures were hovering at a balmy -15 degrees outside. With the exception of the Department of Sanitation charged with clearing the roadways, no one was wandering into that winter wonderland...including one blond-headed Russian who scoffed at the way Americans shivered at the temperatures and such a paltry snowfall.

He would often say this was merely a summer's day back home in Moskva.

"That's because you all have vodka for blood, you crazy Russian," his partner would respond with a snicker.

But today it was a little different for Illya Kuryakin; the snow, wind and yes, even the paltry temperatures were making him homesick. Though there were many memories of the Soviet Union that were unpleasant for him, still it had its moments...the sights, sounds, smells that held one meaning to him, and that was home.

New York had become familiar, and comfortable enough; U.N.C.L.E. was here, that was his life now and he had a best friend in his partner, Napoleon Solo. Friendship was a luxury Illya hadn't permitted himself in a long time. Friends were a liability both to himself and to they themselves because of him. Too many had lost their lives, and sometimes he felt as though being friends with him meant a death sentence for them all.

No, friends were not a good thing to have, and that belief the Russian held to firmly, that was until he'd been assigned to be partnered with the American. Their trust in each other, and friendship was nearly instantaneous. Why Kuryakin had dared to let that happen, he knew not why, but was glad he had.

Yet somehow inspite of his life here and even having a best friend; he still found himself missing his home in the Soviet Union.

_Moskva, (Moscow) Krásnaya Plóshchaď( Red Square),_ the sights and sounds of the _Kreml' (Kremlin)_ , the magnificent churches, museums, the _Bolshoi_ ballet, so many things that simply did not exist here...the history, the suffering of the Russian people; it was an entirely different world.

Was it the places he missed or was it perhaps the lack of familliarity here that New York still held for him making him nostalgic for home? He felt a sentimental attachment to those places creep over him and on days like this they called to him like a spectre, dredging up memories both good and bad.

For Kuryakin such feelings of tenderness were nearly unforgiveable, yet here he was staring out his apartment window at the snow-covered streets, leaning on his fist and sighing like a shoolgirl.

A familiar coded knock on his door momentarily drew his attention, though he turned back to the winter landscape as Napoleon let himself in, dusting off the snow from his warmly lined black trenchcoat, and loosening a white woolen scarf dapperly draped around his neck.

"What's up parnter mine? You don't look too happy." Noting there was nothing cooking on the stove and the fact that Illya was hovering by the livingroom window; Solo's instincts told him something was amiss."

"Nothing is wrong," Illya said, sounding very distracted..

"Right...it's snowing and you're feeling down, that's not normal for you. You're homesick aren't you?"

"Does it show that much? I must be slipping."

"Not really, I've just seen you this way enough times to know what's going on in that thick Russian skull of yours. Tell you what, let's go get something to eat. Food always cheers you up and Changs never closes down...how does Peking duck sound? My treat."

"Like a very good idea," Illya smiled, grabbing his sheep skin coat, black cap and grey knit scarf.

Napoleon picked up the telephone receiver, intending to call a cab for them.

"No, might we walk?" Illya asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"You're serious?" Napoleon cringed, but when he saw the look of disappointment in his friends eyes, he caved in instantly.

"All right tovarisch, why not. It's only a couple of blocks, I think we'll survive."

Together they headed down to the street, shoving their hands in their pockets as they walked side by side. The scene was devoid of all color except for a lone woman carrying a red umbrella to help keep herself dry.

"This really makes you homesick?" Napoleon asked.

"Not snow per se, but it reminds me of home and makes me think of the sights, the sounds...the people. Sometimes I miss hearing my own language being spoken on a daily basis. Try to imagine living in a place where you, Napoleon, never heard a word of English, nor saw anything that was familiar to you except something as simple as a snow."

Napoleon shuddered at that thought, such loneliness must be excruciating for Illya. There wasn't much he could do to change that, other than continue to offer his friendship to this enigma of a man.

Solo suddenly smiled, and bending over; he grabbed a handful of snow, balling it up. Without warning, he hurled it at Kuryakin's head, hitting him squarely and knocking his hat askew.

The Russian stood there for a moment, speechless, flashing his partner a quizzical look before it dawned on him and he smiled. Illya grabbed some snow as well and sent it flying at Solo, hitting him right in the face.

It was war…

By the time they reached Changs they were covered in snow and quite breathless from laughing like two carefree children.

_"Chuvstvovat' sebya luchshe tovarishch_feel better tovarisch?"_ Napoleon suddenly asked in Russian as he shook his coat free of snow before removing it, and hanging it up on a coat rack inside the restaurant entrance.

"Da ya..spasibo_yes I am...thank you."

_"Ne za chto...tovarishch_my pleasure…friend._**_"_** Napoleon flashed a toothy grin in response, pleased that another melancholy mood had been averted. He had to watch out for the guy; after all, they were best friends.

Of all songs, the radio in the restaurant played one that was apropo, but still, one Napoleon feared would tighten the emotional rope from which he'd managed to free his Russian friend.

_"Gonna take a sentimental journey_

_Gonna set my heart at ease_

_Gonna make a sentimental journey_

_To renew old memories_".

.

"Ty v poryadke Illya_are you okay Illya?"

.

_"I got my bag, I got my reservation_

_Spent each dime I could afford_

_Like a child in wild anticipation_

_I long to hear that: "all aboard!"_

"_Yes, all right._" He smiled shyly. "My sentimental journey has brought me here and here is home. Thank you again for helping me to see that my friend."

.

_"I never though my heart could be so yearn_  
><em>Why did I decide to roam<em>  
><em>Gotta take a sentimental journey,<em>

_Sentimental journey home..."_


End file.
